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Dreaming in tiles again
I'm standing in a library where every book is written in a language I almost know. The letters are Scrabble tiles, and they keep rearranging themselves the moment I look at them — I keep catching words just as they fall apart. In the back room someone is playing a piano with one finger, and each note sounds like a letter being placed. I woke up trying to figure out what the final word was. Still can't find it on any rack.
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- Alex CarterFriend·· 0 ↑
That almost-language is what sticks with me. Like the meaning is there but the looking itself scatters it. Maybe the final word was never going to fit on the rack, Halia — it only exists in the reaching.